


See You Better

by scarletfish



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: At Least It Started That Way, Hurt/Comfort, Juno Steel Needs a Hug, M/M, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt, look at it its got angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23766886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletfish/pseuds/scarletfish
Summary: Buddy glances at Peter briefly. “He’s very dramatic, don’t you think? A fever and a cough and he’s got us all gathered around like it’s his deathbed.”[Juno doesn’t get 'sick'](Set vaguely early in S3)
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 342





	See You Better

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks @pigeon-pigeoff from tumblr for the prompt. It’s taken like, ten years, I’m the actual worst, but also I thought I had covid, got tested, and ended up having strep. So. It’s been a Week. This is like, 30% sickfic, 90% Nureyev Being Dramatic? Like I read through it and was like, woo boy, no one asked for this but here it is. Ah well. Here we go.
> 
> Set vaguely early in S3.

“You got this Mistah Ransom!” Rita shoots the taller man two exaggerated thumbs up. 

Her stage whisper is about as quiet as a Tunguskan siren. 

It’s the middle of the goddamn night, and Peter Nureyev is standing outside his… coworker’s bedroom door. When he glances at the tray of food he’s balancing, there’s orange snack dust on his silk pajamas.

His _nice_ silk pajamas. _How_ in Jupiter’s moons did he end up here? 

* * *

The short answer is that Juno is a child. 

The slightly extended answer is that Juno is a child who refuses to take care of himself, and somehow that translated to the detective’s former secretary tapping quietly on Nureyev’s door at some ungodly morning hour. 

He considered, for one glorious moment, slipping his eye mask back down and pretending to be asleep. Whatever it was could most likely wait until morning, and he needed a full face of makeup coupled with some strong tea to face-

 _File it away_. Tying the sash of his robe as he walked, he crossed the small room and slid his cabin door open with one eyebrow raised. 

“Rita, is there something I could assist you--” He began with a slightly concerned tone (Rita had yet to approach him one-on-one, and he assumed that she held similar suspicions to the rest of the crew) but she was already off at a fast-paced whisper (for Rita, a regular volume a bit hoarser than her normal speaking voice). 

“Mistah Ransom! I couldn’t wake anyone else up ya see, ‘cause Miss Vespa’s with Miss Buddy, and Miss Buddy said I ain’t allowed to wake her up before five anymore unless something’s on _fire_ -”

“A wise injunction,” Peter muttered. 

“-and I thought a settin’ something a _little_ on fire, just a tiny bit, ‘cause it’s the boss, and this’s an _emergency_ , but then I said, boundaries are important Rita-”

Peter went to sweep a hand dramatically down his face, then remembered his eyeliner, then remembered _it’s the middle of the night and he’s not actually wearing eyeliner_ , and ended up fluttering his hand exasperatedly around his head. 

“Perhaps you could tell me exactly why you’re here so we can both get back to our beauty sleep?”

“Right! Well you know Mistah Steel’s been feelin’ sick,” she began, and Peter’s eyebrows drew together imperceptibly. As Rita began describing the food she’s been bringing him, returned uneaten, Peter nodded along and cast his mind over the past forty-eight hours.

Juno can’t be that ill, he would have noticed... Wouldn’t he?

Suddenly it’s difficult to tell how much Peter has written off when it comes to the new, softer version of the man he once knew. Juno had always been intelligent without even trying, confident, quick on his feet. Beautiful. Distracting. So when Peter woke up alone That Morning, he had to put Juno Steel in a box. A tiny, inconsequential box, where Juno was nothing special, and Peter could get out of bed in the morning. 

It became increasingly difficult to keep Juno inside of the box when the real thing was living only two doors down, but Peter realized his desperate attempts to minimize the detective had made him ridiculously impartial. 

When Peter could no longer pretend Juno was simply a bumbling fool, he chalked up the coffee spills, the small stumbles, and the misjudged distances to his missing eye. 

The fatigue, the heavy clothing even in the sweltering climate of their last mission, the heat of Juno’s skin when he was playing drunk in front of their mark yesterday, and the way he leaned a bit heavier on the thief than he usually would- it hadn’t occurred to Nureyev that none of these things could be attributed to loss of depth perception.

Peter frowned. 

“-and you ain’t never sleepin’ much anyways, and the boss listens to you more than anyone else. Except me of course! And Captain Buddy. And when Vespa’s got her knife out she’s real intimidatin’-”

 _Listens to_ … Peter tucked the thought away quickly. _For consideration in the very, very distant future_. “I understand your concern, Rita. If Juno is refusing to take care of himself however, there’s not much we can-”

“Oh please, Mistah Ransom!” Rita cut in desperately, her eyes shining with… _were those tears?_ “I’ve been real patient, but he told me he was feelin’ real strange just an hour ago and asked if I could get him some water and now he’s not answerin’ his door, and I could get it open myself, but what if it’s _aliens,_ like in that one program, _Aliens on a Spaceship_ -”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. 

The detective was likely sleeping off a bad cold and thinking little of the chaos he wreaked. _He_ wasn’t worried... but Rita didn’t deserve this stress, and she probably wouldn’t be able to rest properly without an invesitagion...

“All right! I’m uncertain what you imagine I’ll be able to accomplish that you cannot, but if it will reassure you, I will… what exactly is it that you propose?”

Sleep was but a fleeting dream on the Carte Blanche, it seemed.

Rita broke into a face-splitting grin and latched one hand onto his wrist. The tears, he noticed, had miraculously gone.

* * *

Now, Nureyev is shifting awkwardly outside Juno’s door, balancing a tray of food in one hand and his pride in the other. He hears some shuffling from inside the small room and taps lightly on the aluminum panel. 

Despite what he attempted to tell Rita, the thief is certain Juno will answer the door for _him_ , no matter the hour.

“Juno, it’s me. Are you awake?”

...Which is why he’s surprised to hear silence in response to his greeting. He almost knocks again, but his pride won’t let him. 

A _child_. 

“Juno, I think we’d all like to get some rest, and Rita is incredibly concerned about your well-being. If you could at least-” he’s cut off by a loud _thump_ that almost startles him enough to flinch. 

Rita jumps about a foot in the air. “Boss?!”

That’s it. Peter simultaneously sets the tray down hard and pulls a thin blade from the pocket of his robe to prize the door open. 

At first glance the room is empty, but Peter’s already inside, skimming his eyes across the muddle of dirty clothes and dishes. _Where, where, where…_

There. The bathroom door is open, and Juno is puddled on the floor, still. (Again.) Peter’s chest clenches and he’s momentarily back in Miasma’s chambers, faced with a series of impossible decisions. No, no, _no_. 

He can’t breath, Rita is saying something and pushing past him but there’s a ringing in his ears, and he’s frozen, useless, _selfish_ , how did he _miss_ this-

Someone bumps into him and Peter swings around to see… Jet? 

Peter’s idol has gently shouldered him out of the way and is making his way towards Juno. “I’ll get him to the medbay so Vespa can check him over.” 

The medbay? Peter’s brain is scrambling to catch up, to categorize the way Rita is calmly kneeling by Juno’s prostrate form, chattering quietly, and Jet is stooping to scoop Juno’s body up like a child, when Juno… groans?

Peter’s frozen as scenes from the past play out over reality. _Juno bleeding, Juno screaming_.

“M’ okay, just cold,” he complains, pushing weakly at Jet’s arms.

“That is because you have a fever and did not allow Vespa to treat you when you should have.” 

“Boss?”

“I’m fine, Rita, I just tripped,” he fights to keep his eye open and fails, muttering, “I’m so goddamn tired.” 

The words building behind Peter’s teeth burst out. “Fever? What are you-” he tries again, “How did you?” Fails again.

Jet shoots a curious look at Peter’s wild hair, his mismatched slippers, the expression lingering on his face before Peter quickly clears it. The large man cocks his head.

“The ship has thin walls, and neither of you have been particularly quiet. I alerted Vespa that we would most likely need her medical skills, and then arrived to offer my assistance.”

Rita tugs on Peter’s robe. “Mistah Ransom? Thanks for your help tonight, you can get your rest now. Ol’ Rita’s got it under control!” With that, she plods after Jet’s receding figure, leaving Peter in the doorway, still holding his knife and feeling useless. He flicks it closed.

A fever. 

For a second, he had thought… well. 

The adrenaline hits afterwards, like it always does, and Peter picks up the discarded food tray with shaking hands. He has every intention of taking it to the kitchen and then slipping back to his room (Juno doesn’t need him), but his feet start carrying him in the opposite direction, towards the medbay, instead. 

After all, Rita subsists off of salmon snacks, they might need some real food. And Jet is kind, but lacking bedside manner. Besides, Juno and Vespa don’t get along very well, and what if Juno says something in his fever-addled state that sets her off?

Best to check in, if only briefly. Thoroughness is important in his line of work.

Upon nearing the medbay however, he’s faced with a choice.

“In or out?” Buddy is leaning in the doorway, watching a growling Vespa try to place a hydration patch on Juno’s arm.

“Lie _still!”_

“I don’t remember asking for your help!” Juno’s barbed retorts are less sharp than usual, his eye clenched against the light, but Peter relaxes a bit. Vespa does not.

“If you don’t _pipe down_ , you’re going to need more help than I can give you!” 

Buddy glances at Peter briefly. “Not being able to admit weakness can become a weakness itself.” The captain sounds disapproving, but a slight smile touches her lips. “He’s very dramatic, don’t you think? A fever and a cough and he’s got us all gathered around like it’s his deathbed.”

“In,” Peter decides, “I’m going in.” 

“Tell Vespa I’ll meet her back in bed when she’s finished. Good night, darling.” In a sweep of colorful satin, she’s gone. 

He places the tray of food on a small end table. Jet is nowhere to be seen, but Rita is watching streams on her comm from a chair pushed against the foot of Juno’s bed. Peter drags a chair beside her and sits.

Despite her earlier dismissal, Rita doesn’t look surprised to see him. Without looking away from her screen, she holds her bag of salmon snacks towards Peter. He takes one. It isn’t terrible.

Vespa has finished wrestling with Juno and is thrusting her equipment back into the cabinets with a bit more force than necessary.

Over her shoulder, she intones, “Looks like he might live,” and jerks her thumb towards a box on the wall, “unfortunately. Call me if his fever gets over forty again. The box will beep. Might be loopy between doses, suppressant is heavy, it’ll only release every six hours.” 

And then there were three.

Juno is restless, somewhere between waking and sleep for the next couple hours. When he starts speaking under his breath, Peter leans closer to listen, and Juno rolls to face him. He cracks his eye open and Peter’s heart jumps...

“You... shouldn’t be here.” 

And drops. Of _course_ Juno doesn’t want him here. He made his apology, but the Juno Steel who fell for a lonely thief with too many names has grown up. Changed. 

“Rita?” 

“Yeah, boss?”

Peter turns to go, until, “Rita… when I fell. When I… in my room, I thought I saw Ransom.”

And he couldn’t move if he tried. Rita reaches for Juno’s hand. “Yeah Boss, he’s right there!”

“No, he can’t be, I fucked up… I fucked things up so badly Rita.” 

“Nope, he’s definitely right over there Boss.” She gestures cheerily as Peter turns to see a distressed look cross Juno’s face. 

“Rita, he’s gotta get out of here! Make him leave, you both have gotta get out…” he trails off, his eyebrows pulling together. He’s flipping through time so quickly, Peter isn’t sure where each scene ends and the next begins.

“Outta where? I think the meds have got you all turned in circles, Mistah Steel.” 

He sounds more uncertain now, growing fainter. “I can take it, I can keep going if he’s safe, if you’re safe-”

“But we are safe, Boss.”

“I don’t…" he grunts with frustration. "I can’t remember. But Rita," his voice drops, quietly resigned. "Please don'tlet him see me like this. I wanted...” he’s quiet for a long time. So long, Peter thinks he might have fallen asleep. 

But as he softly approaches the bedside, Juno finds his words. 

“I wanted him to see me better.” 

Peter reaches Rita’s side, a strange tightness in his throat. She looks almost motherly as she pats Juno’s hand. 

“I think he does, Boss.” With that, she raises her eyebrows at Nureyev (aside from her hacking skills, he never thought of Rita as particularly intimidating until that moment), grabs her snacks and comms unit, and tells Peter she’s going to get some water. 

She doesn’t return for the rest of the night.

Peter is left with a softly snoring Juno and no idea what to do with his hands. He takes a seat and rests his fingers as close as he dares to the detective’s curls. 

“I do. I do see you better, Juno,” he whispers. 

* * *

Juno wakes up an hour before the next dose, shivering and trying to pull Peter’s arm over him. It almost gives Peter a heart attack.

He pulls a blanket from a nearby bed as soon as he can extract his arm. Grabs a second one for good measure. His arm is burning from where it came into contact with Juno, and for a moment he remembers another night, arm flung haphazardly around the detective, skin burning.

He resigns himself to a sleepless night.

Two hours later, he’s woken by Juno kicking and flailing under the now-sweaty pile of blankets.

As he smoothes a damp washcloth over Juno’s forehead, Juno mutters, “No wait, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve come home,” And _oh_ the temptation to ask. In his fever, Juno's stumbled into a past he's locked away. As badly as he wants to unlock that past and spread it out before him in neatly ordered files, anything that might give him an inkling of what he's up against, or who he’s supposed to _be_ around this new Juno…

But he knows Juno would never forgive him if he took advantage now. So he is silent, stroking the cloth on Juno’s forehead. Biting his tongue.

When Vespa enters the medbay early the next morning, she wakes Peter with a snort. Somehow even her smugness is aggressive. After extracting his arm (again, damn it) from Juno’s vice-like grip, he wraps his robe a bit tighter and stalks out of the room, head held high even as he feels his cheeks burning.

* * *

“Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged!”

Peter hesitates outside the medbay door, not sure he wants to walk straight into the crossfire. He’s managed to avoid Vespa and Juno’s battleground all day, but Buddy wouldn’t let that stand forever.

“I’m not taking your goddamn poison, Vespa!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, did I hurt your fragile little feelings? Would you like Ransom back?”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Your boyfriend was in here playing nursemaid all night,” Vespa growls, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Ya know, I’m starting to recall that neither of you ever _did_ elaborate on where you know each other from.”

 _So Juno didn’t remember last night._ The former detective splutters for a moment, but recovers enough to weakly retort, “Right, which you would know because… aw, Vespa, were you in here all night? I didn’t know you cared.”

“I couldn’t care _less_ , I only know because-” Peter decides this is an opportune moment to interrupt. High excitement, bad for healing.

“Vespa! Tea, there you are, I brought a tray, is there _anything_ else I could get for you?”

Juno is propped up, pale but coherent. Vespa is standing over him, fists clenched. She whirls on Peter. “I don’t recall asking _you_ for-”

“Excellent! I’ll leave it over here for your return. Buddy sent me with dinner for our patient, but would love to see you in the dining room. I trust that would be agreeable to you?”

For a moment Peter worries she might stay and argue, but with an exasperated “ _fine_ ”, she turns heel and stalks off. 

Faced with direct eye contact from a lucid Juno, Peter suddenly wishes he hadn’t set the food down. He needs something to do with his hands.

Juno breaks the silence first, letting his head fall back on the pillows. “Tell Buddy I can get my own dinner, you don’t have to trouble yourselves.”

Peter studies the detective. “It’s no trouble, Juno. You had us all worried,” he says quietly.

Juno scoffed. “I needed some whiskey and a good night’s rest, that’s all.”

“Rita was very concerned-”

This time Juno let out a derisive laugh. “Rita’s also very concerned about Greta Glamour and whether she’ll survive the robot ghost apocalypse next season. No offense, but she’s not the pinnacle of practicality.”

Peter knows Juno's being difficult on purpose. He knows he's embarrassed and picking a fight. He takes the bait anyway, voice rising with each word. “You passed out on your bathroom floor because you couldn’t keep yourself upright! Jet had to carry you to that bed! Your fever was so high it was burning through your body and shutting it down-” 

Juno cuts him off.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset with me!” His voice became harsher. “I was taking care of it. Privately. No one wants to see you when you’re sick. No one _likes_ you like that, and if I can't handle a cold- why are you _looking_ at me like that?” 

Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but his anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. It's obvious Juno is repeating someone else’s words. He feels a tug in his gut. Before he can come up with a response, however, Juno is talking again. Peter hasn't heard this tone before- calmer, edged with regret. 

“God, Nureyev, I’m sorry, I completely went off at you. When,” he clears his throat and covers his face with his hands. The words come out in a rush, “when I got sick in Hyperion, I just drank. Until I couldn’t feel it anymore. I didn't want... You’re right though, this was my bad.” 

Peter moves to sit gingerly on the side of the bed. “No, Juno. It wasn’t your bad, or anyone’s bad. We all get sick.” He rested his hand on what he hoped was the general area of Juno’s knee. “We want to help because we care about you even when you aren’t at your best,” he catches Juno’s eye. “You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

Peter can’t help but feel a bit smug when he sees a deep blush rising up Juno’s throat. “Well I- that’s- thanks, I guess,” he grumbles. “But I’m going to get you sick too if you stay in here too long.”

“I think we passed that threshold last night, Juno dear.” He can’t keep the flirtation out of his voice. It slips over his insecurities and doubts like a comfortable gown.

“What,” the detective deadpans.

“Speaking of,” Peter grows slightly more serious, “I wouldn’t hold a lady to the words he says while he’s in the throes of a fever, but you were... apologizing. To someone, last night, quite distraught.”

Juno doesn’t break eye contact. His mouth opens a few times, as if he’s trying to shovel the right words out but they’re too heavy. At least for right now. The way he’s looking at Peter feels like a confession in itself as he says slowly, “Must’ve been delirious.” 

_For a future discussion, then._

“Well, the past is the past, and I say we drink to the future. I’ll drink my tea, and you can drink the lovely medicine Vespa so kindly located for you.”

“Don’t push it, _Ransom_.”

“Or,” Peter stands to retrieve a bottle from the tray he brought in.

“Is that from Buddy’s private stash? You sly dog.” Juno lifts the alcohol appreciatively. The container is about a quarter full.

“Vespa’s, actually. I thought you deserved a bit of celebration since you missed the post-heist dinner last night.”

“Dangerous game, Nureyev. A toast?” 

Peter lifts his teacup and says mildly, “To your health.” 

Juno finishes half the bottle in a gulp and immediately begins spluttering. He rounds on Peter.

“Did you put _medicine_ in a _whiskey bottle_?!”

“All the dishes were in the wash.”

“This isn’t a dish, this is trash.” The detective scowls deeply. 

Peter only shrugs. “Rita saves them for something.”

“Rita--” Juno stops. Lets out a strange chuckle. Peter doesn’t inquire further, but the corner of his lips quirk upwards when he sees Juno sneak another sip and complain, “Vespa doesn’t even _drink,_ damn it.”

_I do see you better._


End file.
